Marche Funebre Norizon 1. The March Those who march now... will not march again 2. The Silent Watcher Here alone in the dark I've hidden for all these years Watching as your lives pass by Never far enough Never close enough I've known the companion of man The closeness, the intimacy and the departure Ripped away from the beloved, by the beloved I've always stayed here by your path Waiting for a sign To re enter your lives The pain of the news bites Soaring through my heart The hate never did fully mask the love I watched every move Cried with your cries Loathed your enemies Loathed your friends Aching from your joy Waiting for a sign To re enter your lives I am the silent watcher Never stray from your path I am the man in silence Knocking on the wooden door I am the silent watcher Knocking on your conscience 3. Benighted A cry in the dark A sigh by dawn Benighted by nocturnal magick I dwell to meet a creature most divine Benighted, I seek night after night Enslaved by a supernatural desire I am drawn to Her mythical habitat Enslaved, I drawn to Her... From dusk till dawn She reigns Where no light dwells Thou feelst Her omnipresent black aura Bewildered by a strange dark feeling I have to end my nocturnal search Bewildered, I stare in Her eyes O, most gracious Goddess of the Dark Thou enchanted me With Thy nocturnal charm Thou truly art a creature most divine O, Dark Enchantress, make me Thine O, Nocturnal Angel Let me look into Thine eyes Let me locked into Thy arms Every night from now Until eternity ends... 4. On Wings of Azrael Lo! 'T is a gala night Within the lonesome latter years! An angel throng, bewinged, bedight In veils, and drowned in tears, Sit in a theatre A play of hopes and fears, The orchestra breathes fitfully The music of the spheres. Mimes, in the form of God Mutter and mumble low, Hither they fly Mere puppets who come and go At bidding of vast forms That shift the scene to and fro, Flapping their Condor wings Invisible Wo! That motley drama! It shall not be forgot! Its Phantom chased forever more, By a crowd that seize it not, Through a circle that ever returneth To the self-same spot, Much of Madness, more of Sin Horror the soul of the plot. But see, amid the mimic rout, A crawling shape intrude! A blood-red thing that writhes from out the scenic solitude! It writhes! -it writhes!- with mortal pangs The mimes become its food, And the seraphs sob at vermin fangs In human gore imbued Out --out are the lights --out all! And over each quivering form, The curtain, a funeral pall, Comes down like a storm, The angels, pallid and wan, Unveiling they affirm The play is the tragedy, "Man, Its hero the Conqueror Worm." "Crushed into the very dust with sorrow My memory flew back to Ligeia, The beloved, The august, The entombed. One night, near the closing in of September A shadow -a faint, Indefinite shadow of angelic aspect I saw, fall within the goblet, by the terror, by the opium and by the hour." "Rowena had shaken off the fetters of Death Arising from the bed of death I trembled not - I stirred not She chilled me into stone" "Shrinking from my touch, She let fall from her head Long and dishevelled hair Blacker than the raven wings of the midnight Can I never be mistaken These are the full, and the black, And the wild eyes Of my lost love - of the LADY LIGEIA."